


(shimmy shimmy) shake

by justcourbeau



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Actor Jughead Jones, Emmys, F/M, Gen, Makeup Artist Betty Cooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 22:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15035111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcourbeau/pseuds/justcourbeau
Summary: “Sorry,” he piped up unexpectedly, and Betty flicked her eyes up a fraction to meet his. “I was at a promotional thing last night, and didn’t get to go home until three.” He gestured vaguely to where she had been looking, the bags under his eyes heavy and smudged with blue from lack of sleep.[or alternatively; the Makeup Artist!Betty Actor!Jughead AU no one asked for]





	(shimmy shimmy) shake

**Author's Note:**

> If you take the makeup video Lili did for Vogue, and add it to the bts shot of Lili doing Cole’s makeup, multiply that by my love of bughead, and then divide it by my insomnia, and finally subtract the square root of my excitement for season three to begin filming, you get this fic.
> 
> Sorry, she says (really quite insincerely).
> 
> PS—I have little to no industry knowledge/experience in the area of makeup artists or celebrities, so please excuse any inaccuracies. We’ll just agree to call it creative license.

“Aunt Betty! Aunt Betty, push _me!_ ” Junie cried, her swing slowing with every pass back and forth on the backyard swing set at the Cooper household.

“ _My_ turn!” Dagwood insisted, peeking over his shoulder to give Betty a dazzlingly toothy toddler grin.

“You have to share Aunt Betty! Be nice! Take turns!” Polly called from the back deck, flipping yet another burger on the grill. Her green skirt fluttered to and fro with every movement, and before long, her attention was pulled back to filling hotdog requests for other small party-goers.

“Higher, Aunt Betty!” the twins insisted, crowing the phrase over and over again, sometimes in harmony and others in a cringeworthy discord. Betty shifted so she could alternate between them both instead of going back and forth from one to the other.

Other children squealed through the yard. There was a rambunctious tag game in session, as well as scattered paper plates laden with varying amounts of snacks, ranging in health from apple slices and grapes to chips. Bubbles were floating along in the breeze, a trail leading back to a few kids trying to blow through the plastic bubble wand at the same time. Her sister had already confiscated the sprinkler and hid it from prying little hands; Polly hadn’t requested swimsuits on the birthday invitation and Betty knew that at least _one_ of the children there would insist on changing if they got wet in the crossfire.

A few minutes later, Betty’s phone vibrated in her back pocket, and she idly slipped it out so she could glance down at the name on call display in order to decide if it was worth answering in the middle of her niece and nephew’s third birthday party. Giving another good push to Juniper’s swing seat, she slid the lock open to answer the call.

“Hey Kev,” she started, wedging the smartphone between her ear and shoulder. “I thought you were worki—”

“Betty, where are you right now, and do you have your kit with you?” Kevin’s voice rushed though the speaker.

“I’m in Kearny at my parents’ place. Where's the fire?” She huffed out a laugh before shushing the twins who were still hollering about going higher.

“The Carlyle. How fast can you get here?”

“What’re you—”

“I can’t tell you who it’s for, and they’ll probably make you sign some sort of non-disclosure agreement when you get here, I don’t know, but I _can_ say that the makeup artist they booked went into early labour— _right_ before the Emmys, oh my god, but Betty,” Kevin hissed on the other end of the line, “none of that matters. All that matters is that they need an emergency makeup artist here in suite 1245, and they need one _now_. I’m telling you, this was _meant_ for you.”

Betty blinked slowly, her arms still poised to push the alternating swings.

“What?” she asked, her brain taking a minute to catch up.

“Just trust me. You _do not_ want to miss this opportunity. If there is _any_ way you can get out of whatever family torture you’re being subjected to right now, I highly suggest you hightail it over here.”

“Do they know I don’t work with you at Maybelle’s? They know I’m freelance?”

“Yeah,” Kevin answered, finally seeming to take a breath for the first time since she’d answered his call. “Yeah, they asked if I knew anyone who could pull off two last-minute red carpet looks, and I told them I had someone in mind— _you_ —but that you weren’t with a company right now. They don’t care as long as you do good work and can get here in less than, like, 45 minutes. An hour, tops. _Childbirth_ , I tell you.”

“Oh my god, Kev, it’s not like _you’re_ the one in labour,” Betty levelled. “Okay, hold on, hold on. Can you stall for like two minutes? I don’t wanna just disappear without telling Polly.”

“If I don’t hear from you in five, I’m gonna have to call someone else. Go!” Kevin demanded.

The second the call ended, Betty dashed away from the swings, calling a placation of “be right back!” over her shoulder to the twins, and bounded up the steps of the back deck.

“What’s wrong?” Polly asked, face twisted in concern as her eyes searched for any sign of distress or, worse yet, an open wound.

“Nothing, nothing. But Kevin just called and apparently someone needs a last minute red carpet Emmy look— _two_ , actually. Someone went into labour and—I don’t know who it’s for, but he says I shouldn’t miss it?” Betty finished with a grimace.

Polly had been planning the twins’ party for the last month, and Betty had heard every lament involved. _And_ she had promised to help her clean up after the kids all went home, which she wouldn’t be able to do is she was in Manhattan, putting makeup on famous people’s faces.

“What are you still doing here?” Polly’s eyes widened comically. If Betty’s heart hadn’t been pounding as hard as it was, she might have laughed. “Go! That’s amazing—bad timing, but amazing!”

“But the twins—”

“I’ll tell them. Don’t worry, there’s so many people here, they won’t even know you’re gone. _Go._ Seriously.”

Betty pulled Polly in for a hasty hug before turning to run inside and grab her bag from the kitchen, texting Kevin on her way down the front walk to her car.

.

.

.

“Sorry, sorry, it was slow on 65th—” Betty rambled, flapping her free hand as she tugged her roller case after her into the room.

“Thank god, she’s here,” someone sighed with relief from somewhere on the other side of the room, but before Betty could decypher who, Kevin was upon her.

“I knew you’d make it!” he clasped her shoulders before leaning in close and whispering into her ear. “Don’t freak out, okay? _Don’t freak out_.”

“What’re you—”

“Betty?” a clear, tinkling voice interrupted them, and Kevin pulled back. Just a step behind him was a short blonde woman with piercing hazel eyes.

“I still have hair to do so I’m gonna leave you with Sabrina, okay?” he asked, eyes searching Betty’s for confirmation. She gave him the tiniest of nods before extending her hand out to the woman.

“Hi, I’m Betty Cooper. Kevin said you could use some help.”

“Yes, hi, I’m Sabrina! I’m with Weatherbee Talent Management.” The blonde grasped Betty’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “Thank you _so much_ for coming on such short notice. I’m sure Kevin said, but our makeup artist’s water broke like _ten minutes_ after she got here, and—anyway, the gist is we need three faces sorted out—two female, one male. And we have,” Sabrina paused and twisted her wrist watch around, “two hours. Do you think you can work with that?”

Betty took a deep breath, taking in Sabrina’s hesitantly hopeful grimace.

“Yes, but let’s get started right away. I’ll follow you,” she gestured in the direction Kevin had retreated.

“Right to business, yes!” Sabrina turned on her heel and Betty followed after her quickly. “I don’t know if you watch much tv, but Sweetwater Hustle is up for a bunch of categories—lead actor, lead actress, supporting actress, music composition, production design…”

As Sabrina trailed off, Betty’s steps faltered and she nearly rolled her ankle, her wedge slipping under the sudden gait change.

Sweetwater Hustle.

_Sweetwater Hustle._

Her favourite new show— _that_ Sweetwater Hustle.

Betty was pretty sure she continued walking purely off of muscle memory, because both her nerves and brain cells stopped firing in that moment.

_Don’t freak out._

Kevin’s words made so much more sense now; after all, Kevin was the one who came over every Wednesday night so they could watch the show together and eat unhealthy amounts of hummus and crackers under the guise of ‘nibbles’.

“Guys, this is Betty Cooper,” Sabrina stopped just before reaching the group of three people that were loosely gathered around a table laid with snacks and drinks, one off to the side in Kevin’s chair. “She’s our angel of the night—she’s filling in for Ginger.”

Betty immediately recognized them as actors from the show, and she tried her hardest to keep her facial features from giving her astonishment away. The woman closest to her was olive-skinned and dark-haired—Veronica Lodge, who Betty deduced was up for Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Drama Series as the plucky tech guru on the show.

“A baby! So exciting!” Veronica clasped her hands together briefly and bounced in her seat before offering her hand to Betty. “Nice to meet you, I’m Veronica. Can we help get you set up or anything? Save you some time?”

“Oh,” Betty breathed, shaking the proffered hand. “That’s kind of you—”

“Here,” another voice spoke up, and Betty turned to see Jughead Jones reaching for her case. “I’ll get that.”

“Thank you,” she replied, dropping her grip on the handle and trying to keep the wispy breathiness from her voice. Her heart was bleating out an arrhythmic staccato against her ribcage, and she fought to keep her breathing level and controlled at the sight of him.

“I’d help, but I’m confined to the chair,” the redhead off to the side contributed, giving Betty a little wave from her seat where Kevin was busy curling and clipping her hair to set. “I’m Cheryl—nice to meet you!”

The blazing red hair of Cheryl Blossom was also recognizable at first sight, and, for a moment, Betty couldn’t think of what to say because she was too busy mentally noting how much more striking the fair-skinned woman was in person. She was graceful enough on screen; face to face, she was quintessential lead actress material, her features positively statuesque.

Kevin was giving her a pointed look from behind Cheryl’s shoulders, and Betty pressed her lips together purposefully.

“Why don’t you do Jughead first?” Kevin suggested, and Betty felt her cheeks start to bloom with heat. “He doesn’t need a smoky eye _or_ glitter pigment.”

“Hey, wait, maybe I do.” Jughead met Betty’s gaze as he heaved her bag up onto a table with little to no trouble. Sabrina snorted, Veronica barked out a laugh, and Jughead grinned. “I happen to think turquoise glitter would be the perfect look for our first red carpet.”

“Turquoise, hmm?” she laughed. “A bold statement.” She shifted the chairs around, pulling one over to the table he’d set her makeup case on. Pulling the zipper open, she began to unpack, separating the products into neat groups and laying out her brushes on a little hand towel.

“Here,” Jughead reappeared at her side, setting a water bottle down at her elbow before sliding into the seat she’d pulled over a moment ago, acting as if he had no idea how fast her heart was beating in her chest at his proximity. There may be no definitive way for him to tell, but he _had_ to be acquainted with the effect he had on people.

“Thank you. Again,” Betty said with a small smile, turning back to start plucking out shades of concealer that were in his shade range.

“You’re welcome. Again.” Jughead’s voice in person was no less rich than on the show; goosebumps erupted along the back of her arms and prickled up her thighs, catching against the fabric of her dress. He held out his hand, and she shook it. “Jughead Jones. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

Kevin had moved on to teasing Cheryl’s mane, and the two had settled into an easy back and forth that Betty had never really had the skill for, not with people she didn’t know at all. Trying to shut their quiet chatter out, she set about shade matching as Sabrina and Veronica shuffled garment bags around.

“So you’re nominated for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama?” Betty asked, mostly to fill the silence between them. Of course that’s what he was nominated for—Sabrina had basically spelled it out for her.

“Yeah,” he remarked, and Betty picked up a sense of hesitancy in his demeanor.

“Congratulations,” she replied quietly, shooting him another small smile before reaching for her preferred concealer brush. He returned it in thanks, though it till struck Betty as being more of a quiet, unsure acceptance.

She knew he was a new-ish actor, and that Sweetwater Hustle was the first big thing he’d been involved in—the first big thing that got a lot of attention, a lot of media coverage, and had a huge social media presence. All of that sounded very daunting, and she couldn’t blame him for his cautious attitude.

As she drew closer to him, eyes running over the contours of his face and taking in the freckles dotted around his jaw and cheeks, she could see his own gaze fixed on her, and she tried to ignore it and focus.

“Sorry,” he piped up unexpectedly, and Betty flicked her eyes up a fraction to meet his. “I was at a promotional thing last night, and didn’t get to go home until three.” He gestured vaguely to where she had been looking, the bags under his eyes heavy and smudged with blue from lack of sleep.

Betty finished warming the concealer on her back of her hand, and waved the brush in his direction.

“That’s why Kev called me, right? And this is hardly _a situation_. I got this.”

.

.

.

“Jughead, let’s get you suited up and let Betty start on the ladies.” Sabrina whisked him out of Betty’s chair with a polite grin, and pulled him over to the garment bags.

“Where’s the stylist?” Betty asked offhandedly. Before any big event, she would have expected stylists to be there to dress the trio, as well as the makeup artist—who was already accounted for in the nearest hospital delivery room, she assumed—plus Kevin for hair.

“Oh, Midge took Ginger to the hospital. She’s waiting there with her until Ginger's husband gets there,” Kevin answered, leaning away from Veronica’s head to check his phone screen. “He’s stuck in traffic still,” he reported a moment later. “But Midge left everything laid out pretty clearly.” Kevin pointed to a far table that had a pair of shoes for each of them, and what looked like handbags and accessories all laid out, grouped by intended person.

“My turn?” Cheryl asked abruptly from behind Betty’s elbow, making her jump.

“Yes, of course. What sort of look were you and Midge thinking of?”

“Oh, well,” Cheryl said, drifting off to grab her own garment bag and bring it back to Betty, “nothing dark. The dress is white.” She unzipped it halfway and Betty should see the shine of the silk under the afternoon light.

“How about we…” Betty trailed off, peeking farther into the bag to take in the straight neckline, thin straps, and simple angled hem. “How about we go for taupe-y golden goddess? With some classic winged liner. Keep your skin glowing. You’ll look like an angel in white.”

She blinked back up to Cheryl’s face, taking in her hair style—Kevin had curled and brushed her mane into some sleek and perfect old Hollywood glam, and she looked amazing, even without makeup.

“I trust Kevin, and you’re Kevin’s friend, so I trust you,” she stated simply, slipping back into the seat Jughead had just vacated. “Lay it on me, Betty.”

.

.

.

When he reappeared, Jughead was dressed up, complete with bowtie, jacket hanging over his arm. Betty was suddenly parched.

Once Cheryl was polished up, brown eyes popping under the golden hues she had used, Betty stepped back to stretch and twist open the cap of the water Jughead had procured for her. September had not gotten the message that fall was supposed to be arriving any minute, and had continued to press stifling mid-summer weather on the state and its people. To make matters worse, her tiny second-hand Honda didn’t have functioning air conditioning, and her relatively brief wait in Manhattan traffic had been more painful than it had really needed to be because of it. Thankfully, the hotel suite was cool and she wasn’t at risk of overheating from the weather.

But she was at risk of a little facial glow—“ladies don’t _sweat,_ Elizabeth, they _glow”,_ according to her mother—because Jughead Jones kept catching her eye from his seat on one of the couches, and darting his gaze away again.

_Jughead Jones._

“I love your dress,” Veronica stated as she moved directly from Kevin’s chair to Betty’s. “That print is so cute, too.”

“Oh, thank you. It’s one of my favourites,” Betty commented, brushing her palms down her thighs and swishing the fabric back and forth.

“Where did you get it?” Veronica asked kindly, shifting in the seat and taking a swig from her own water bottle.

“My sister made it for me, actually. She's pretty talented with a sewing machine.”

There was a beat of silence, and Betty looked up. Veronica’s gaze slid from Jughead to Betty, a pensive look on her face before she uncrossed her legs and stood, making for the last garment bag on the rack.

“Cheryl’s dress is white, but mine is very much not,” she said, unzipping it and showing Betty the intricate blue and green threads woven and stitched into a swirling brocade. “What do you suggest?” Veronica tilted her head to gaze up at Betty, her bare feet and short stature in sharp contrast with Betty’s wedges and added height.

“What about…” Betty maneuvered the garment bag around so she could see the colours against Veronica’s skin. “Yeah, I have an idea.”

Veronica gave another little bounce on the balls of her feet before replacing the dress on the rack and hopping back into Betty’s chair.

“None of us have really been to any big events yet; this is so exciting,” she rambled as Betty gathered clean brushes, tossed out some cotton buds she’d used to clean up Cheryl’s crease, and started plucking bottles from her foundation selection.

“I can imagine. Are you nervous at all?” Betty prompted, moving in to start when she was ready.

“A little, I guess?” Veronica closed her eyes. “Mostly because I think I’ll be trying not to look too starstruck the whole time. And Sabrina says there will be lots of camera flashes and photographers yelling, so that should be… interesting to see in person.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine. And there’s people there on the carpet to help you move along and not get too distracted. Don’t worry,” Betty replied, working quickly. “Plus, Jughead won't let you fall or anything, will you, Jughead?”

“Of course not,” he replied, the sound of his shifting reaching Betty’s ears. “Just stick to me if you’re overwhelmed—then we can be overwhelmed together. I’m sure Cheryl is going to love every minute of the attention, so I wouldn’t count on her.”

“But then people will think we’re _dating,”_ Veronica laughed, voice edging on a whine.

Betty laughed, throwing Jughead a glance. His eyes were already settled on her, and he rolled them dramatically.

“You mean _Twitter_ might think we’re dating,” he snarked. “Besides, no matter what any of us do, people will speculate. No point in caring about what they say.”

“That was wise,” Betty commented, sending him an impressed look, eyebrow hitched.

“Easy for you to say—you get to faux-date all of _this,”_ Veronica laughed, making a sweeping gesture down her body, sweatshirt and joggers included.

Jughead snorted and reached for another handful of pretzels.

Kevin reappeared with Cheryl, all zipped up into her dress, followed closely by Sabrina, who was tapping away on her phone.

“Ta-da!” The redhead struck a sleek pose.

Veronica responded with “Aye, mami”, and Jughead gave her an aggressive thumbs up. Cheryl flapped her hands at them with faux bashfulness before heading over to the accessory table with Kevin.

“Betty, have you seen Sweetwater Hustle?” Kev asked, and Betty almost frowned, pausing with her mouth open to retort—he obviously _knew_ it was her current favourite show. He gave her wide eyes from over Jughead's head, and Betty followed his lead.

“Yeah, I have,” Betty answered, trying not to sound as confused as she felt.

“What did you think of it?” Cheryl asked, taking the rings Kevin was handing her and slipping them up over her knuckles.

“Well, I thought… it was great. I really love genre elements, and you guys had that in spades."

“What was your favourite?” Veronica continued.

“From the whole show?” Betty balked.

“Just the finale, then,” Jughead laughed.

Betty took a moment to think, sweeping more indigo shadow above Veronica’s lashline, so dark it was almost black.

“The imagery in the scene with Dilton and the apple was great, but my favourite would have to be the car sinking into the river,” she said diplomatically, ponytail bobbing.

“The license plate?” Jughead prompted, oddly hopeful.

“The license plate.” Betty nodded.

“What’s the license plate?” Cheryl looked over at them again.

“NFB 418,” Betty supplied, and Jughead beamed at her. She tried to keep the swooping of her stomach from registering on her face.

“It’s a reference to Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. It’s literally an almost shot-for-shot recreation of that scene,” he explained.

“I did not know that,” Cheryl breathed.

.

.

.

As soon as Veronica's face was done, she was on her feet and going to change. They had made good time, but it was still a tight timeline for them. Betty tidied her things up as Kevin primped Cheryl a bit more, and Jughead continued to munch on snacks from the table. Before she knew it, Veronica was putting the last bangle around her wrist and gazing at herself in the room’s large mirror.

Cheryl and Veronica insisted on taking a group mirror selfie with Kevin and Betty—“to commemorate the occasion of Betty saving us, obviously,” as the given reason—and so they gathered around the floor length mirror to pull faces and take boomerangs.

After, Betty looked around, seeing that Kevin was busy packing his hair tools away and chatting with Sabrina. Jughead was standing again, jacket around his shoulders and bowtie neatly tied.

“Yes? Good?” he asked, motioning to himself vaguely. “I can leave the house like this?”

“Oh, here,” Betty beckoned after looking him over, and Jughead stepped closer. Betty reached up, her fingers smoothing a dark swoop of hair away from his forehead. It almost immediately started edging its way closer to his eyebrow again, and Jughead laughed.

“So, you do hair, too?” One side of his mouth quirked up slyly, and she fought the urge to stare considering his height made his lips nearly eye level to her.

“The car is here! Time to go!” Sabrina called, looking up from her position leaning against the front door, hunched over her phone screen. The girls began to move towards Sabrina, gathering their bags and accoutrements; Jughead stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, waiting for her answer.

“What can I say? I’m a true renaissance woman.” Betty shrugged.

“You sure are,” he mused.

_Don’t stare at his freckles, Betty. Whatever you do—don’t look._

“Jughead! Come on!” Cheryl called out, heels clacking across the floor as she made to follow Veronica, who was already stepping out into the hallway.

“You’re going to be late!” Betty insisted, ushering him in the direction of the door.

“Thank you, Betty Cooper.”

“You’re welcome, Jughead Jones. Now go!”

“Betty, don’t leave yet. I’ll be back to get your info so I can pay you!” Sabrina called, sweeping Jughead out of sight. The door clicked shut and Betty rounded on Kevin, scooping up a few brushes and hurling them at him one at a time.

“Oh. My. _God!”_ He dodged them deftly, with face-splitting grin pasted on his features. “You couldn’t have _warned_ me?”

Kevin pressed his hand over his grinning mouth, eyes wide, shaking his head.

.

.

.

_“Hi, is this Betty Cooper?”_ the voice coming from her phone asked the next day.

“Yes, hi, Sabrina! Did you get my email with the invoice?” Betty asked, pushing her chair back from the desk she was sitting at, angling away.

_“I sure did—I just e-transferred you, so you should get an email any minute. But I’m actually calling because we wanted to know if you would work your magic for another event later this week? Ginger is happy at home with her incredibly early little one, and Jughead asked me if we could get you again.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and kudos if you liked this instalment of I Should Have Been Working On Something Else. 
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr.
> 
> Later, gators.


End file.
